Scorpion Hill
by Silbrith
Summary: During a trip to Morocco, Neal and Peter find themselves targeted by the Starry Wisdom cult. Arkham Files story #8, a blend of White Collar and the world of the Cthulhu Mythos.
1. Thievery

_Notes: Scorpion Hill takes place after the events in the seventh Arkham Files story, Sands of Abydos. I've written short summaries of the previous Arkham Files stories for the blog I co-write with Penna: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation. The post is called "Inside the Arkham Files Vault." For a status update on the main characters, see my post: Vault Acquisition: Scorpion Hill._

* * *

**Chapter 1: Thievery**

**Marrakesh, Morocco. Wednesday, January 7, 1976.**

"Cut to the chase, Peter. How many and how deadly?" Neal crossed his arms in front of his chest, ignoring the shoppers crowding the stalls of the market in the historic medina of Marrakesh.

Peter placed his hands on his hips. "Just because it's called Scorpion Hill, don't assume the site's overrun with them."

"That's not what I read," Elizabeth countered. "Scorpions are common throughout the region, and I remember the hair-raising account of a certain archaeologist I know and love from a previous expedition. Don't tell me you invented those stories just to keep me from wishing I'd been able to go with you."

"Of course not." Despite his denial, the tips of Peter's ears reddened, leading Neal to suspect El's suspicions were perilously close to being accurate. "It's just that after facing hordes of rampaging ghasts and zoogs, scorpions no longer seem as threatening," Peter added in an apparent effort to salvage the situation.

"What about the legend of the giant scorpion inhabiting the Atlas Mountains?" Neal challenged. "Scorpion Hill is part of that mountain range. Is that where the scorpion's home is supposed to be?"

Peter groaned. "Mozzie told you about that, didn't he?"

"And me, as well," El added. "It sounds like a reasonable surmise."

Peter raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Fine. If you want to believe mythological creatures are real, I won't stop you. The Atlas Mountains were named after the Greek god who holds up the celestial heavens. It's no stretch at all to think that Atlas brought the constellation Scorpius down to Earth and transformed it into a giant arachnid whose nest is in Scorpion Hill."

Peter raised a brow, but if he expected Neal to laugh, he was out of luck. Neal would never be skeptical of anything again, not after he discovered the monsters written about by Abdul Alhazred in the _Necronomicon_ were not mere nightmarish creations, but alien creatures from other worlds. In comparison, an immense scorpion lurking in the foothills didn't sound that outlandish.

Mozzie claimed that he hadn't accompanied them to Marrakesh so he could continue his work with Pagna Sastri and Milly, a Celaenian android residing within the armillary sphere. In a week Pagna was due to return to the Meropian home base, leaving Mozzie in charge of her lab. Ample justification to stay at home. The fact that he would also avoid any encounters with gigantic arachnids was purely coincidental.

Neal picked up the bottle of scorpion repellant which the vendor assured him would offer protection from all species. "This doesn't cost much. I'm getting it."

"I wonder if he has anything to repel zoogs," El asked. "That's what we really need."

If the reports Sara had obtained from her Interpol contact were accurate, zoogs had been spotted in the ancient Moroccan city. The presence of animals from the planet Tirelia would indicate an active wormhole and, along with it, the likelihood of an active branch of the Starry Wisdom cult.

A couple of years ago, Peter had worked on a dig near Scorpion Hill which was in the foothills south of Marrakesh. He'd uncovered Neolithic drawings of starfish reminiscent of images they'd learned to associate with the Elnath, an ancient alien species who colonized Earth in its prehistory. Peter had wanted to return to the excavation site in any case, but Sara's report made the need more urgent. Funding and all travel arrangements had been provided by their Meropian adviser Gideon Talmadge.

If zoogs were present, were ghasts as well? Humans could spot zoogs but ghasts were invisible to anyone who didn't carry algolnium in their spinal fluid. As far as Neal knew, the only humans capable of seeing ghasts were the members of his group. He hoped they'd be able to discover the wormhole, seal it, and then explore the dig at their leisure. They'd only just arrived in Marrakesh. Absolutely no reason not to be an optimist.

"Sara wishes she could have joined us," Neal said. "The possibility of Godzilla-sized scorpions apparently only served to increase the allure for her."

"You should buy her something in Marrakesh to help ease her disappointment," El suggested. "Peter, you're our expert on Morocco. Anything come to mind?"

"Marrakesh is known for its glass jewelry," he suggested. "I bet you'd like some too."

She looked at her watch. "My appointment with the coroner isn't for a while. That should give us enough time to shop." The rumored zoog sightings had taken place close to the scene of a murder. Before they left Arkham, El was able to secure permission to review the findings. If the victim's blood contained a rare selenium compound, they'd likely been parasitized by a zoog.

An hour later with purchases made, El left in a taxi to the city morgue. "Are you ready to head back to the hotel?" Peter asked Neal.

"Not yet. I'd like to have more time in the market. It reminds me of the last one we visited."

"The Hlanith bazaars on Tirelia?" Peter smiled. "I wouldn't mind having some of those baroque pearls we were bartering, but I'm glad we don't have to worry about Azathoth's monks. The cult's bad enough."

Neal paused to scan the people around them. The possibility of being tracked by members of the Starry Wisdom cult was a constant in their lives, but even if there were ghasts around, they wouldn't attempt anything in broad daylight.

"Markets are a great resource for the archaeologist," Peter added. "Even today it's possible to discover artifacts that are sold by locals unaware of their significance." He nodded toward a vendor who was selling pottery and rocks of various sorts. "Let's check out this stall."

The man had pottery figurines and fossils for sale. Morocco was rich in fossils, and a Moroccan trilobite would make a good present for Mozzie. Peter had no need for Neal's translation services or a Meropian language amulet since he knew enough Arabic to manage on his own. As Neal examined the fossil collection, Peter inquired about the pottery.

The man's weather-beaten face broadened into a grin, displaying his prominent broken teeth. "You are a collector? My son returned from Imlil with some interesting pieces. I haven't put prices on them yet but you are welcome to inspect them." He bent down to retrieve a tray of earthenware items from under the counter.

Peter picked up one piece to study it. The small vase had been embellished with a few straggling plant stalks, all made in the same red clay. He chuckled. "My daughter would like this for her dollhouse. How much?"

With that, the haggling began. Neal studied the small sculpture more closely. Any piece which caused Peter to invent a daughter was worth a second look. It was crudely shaped as if it had been made by a child. The red clay object appeared to have been dried under the hot Moroccan sun.

Bargaining concluded, the vendor wrapped it in sheets of newspaper and Peter placed it in his string shopping bag along with an ammonite fossil Neal had purchased for Mozzie.

When they'd walked far enough away that the vendor couldn't overhear him, Neal murmured, "Tell me more about your daughter."

"You didn't like my story? The sculpture does look like a child could have crafted it, but I'd stake my reputation that it's an ancient statue. If the vendor had suspected the truth, he would have charged a king's ransom." Peter shrugged. "And it might be worth it."

"What do you think it is?"

"Remember those cave drawings outside Lyon?"

Neal stopped in his tracks. "You believe it could be an Elnath?" He spoke in a whisper not for fear of being overheard but because of the sheer outrageousness. This was hardly a likely place to find a carving of Earth's earliest known alien visitors.

Peter nodded. "The barrel shape was what first attracted me to it. Those five projections at the top I bet are meant to represent the tentacles on top of their head. You can see traces of two parts that were broken off. They could have been wings. The vendor said it came from Imlil. That's a village to the south in the mountains near Scorpion Hill." His eyes glinted with excitement. "I can't wait to get this back to Arkham and have Cyrus date it. This alone makes our trip worth the expense, and we've yet to explore the cave."

Cyrus Dexter was the chemist on their team. They were fortunate to have the head of the university's chemistry department working with them. Between analyzing the composition of artifacts and working with El on alien compounds, his research was a vital component to their efforts.

The sun was now low in the sky, and Peter suggested heading back to their hotel to wait for El's return. If anything, the market became more crowded as business workers joined the throng.

"Watch out!"

Peter gave Neal a hard shove as a motorized bike veered straight at him. Losing his footing, Neal stumbled and fell. Angry shoppers cursed at the helmeted cyclist as they scrambled to get out of his path.

"Are you all right?" Peter asked as Neal scrambled to his feet.

"Yeah, thanks for the warning,'' he said, dusting off his pants.

"Wait, where's my bag?" Peter scanned the crowd frantically. "I'm sure I didn't drop it. Someone must have snatched it."

Neal grabbed Peter's arm. "That man in the gray hoodie, he's got it and he's speeding away!"

Neal tore off to catch him, Peter at his heels. Ignoring the disgruntled yells of vendors, Neal leaped over baskets of goods and livestock alike in a mad dash after his quarry.

The thief darted into a narrow lane in the medina. Running footsteps alerted Neal that Peter wasn't far behind, but he didn't dare break his stride for fear of losing sight of the thief.

It was small consolation that El had kept the glass bracelet Neal had bought for Sara. A statue of the Elnath had been ripped away from them before he'd had a chance to study it thoroughly.

When Neal rounded the corner into an alley, he was just in time to see the man enter an unmarked building. Neal stared at the door with frustration. What should he do now? Bang on it and demand the return of his property? The building had no windows. There was no clue on the blank façade to indicate its purpose.

Peter caught up to him, panting from the chase. "Where'd he go?"

Neal nodded toward the door. "I could knock and, depending on who answered, take it from there."

"And find yourself in a den of cultists?" Peter shook his head firmly. "Not happening."

"He has your statue," Neal said bitterly. "We can't let him get away with it."

"I have no intention of giving up," he retorted, "but first we need to know what we're dealing with. Weren't you the guy who was worried about scorpions?"

"That was different," Neal protested.

"You're right. They aren't nearly as dangerous as the cult." Peter scanned the street. "If memory serves me right, this is a service alley to townhouses. I visited a professor in his riad near here."

The Moroccan version of a townhouse was built around a courtyard. Most had attached gardens. "Then this is a service entrance?"

Peter nodded. "We need to find out who lives there before planning our next move."

As they walked up to the door in the alley, Neal's fingers began to tingle as if they'd gotten a mild electric shock. He paused to focus on the sensation.

"What's wrong?" Peter asked.

Neal sniffed the air. A faint trace of something indefinable. An image of the night sky filled with stars . . . The smell of ozone. He walked one pace forward. The door ahead began to shimmer softly.

"There's a wormhole inside," he whispered. "I can see the shimmer. It's happening just like Milly predicted."

Milly had told him that the shimmer he detected around wormholes was a manifestation of energy produced by excited atoms of algolnium. The Celaenians had discovered that deep within Earth's core resided pure molten algolnium. The energy it radiated was indiscernible to humans. Neal was able to see it because of his Celaenian DNA. He knew algolnium energy powered wormholes but Milly hadn't told him much else about it.

Algolnium which had formerly resided only in Neal's spinal fluid now permeated every cell of his body. With each day that passed, he became more alien even though to outward appearances nothing had changed. What that meant for the future was unknown. Neal tried not to dwell on it. For the moment, it was a godsend. Milly was confident that he'd be able to sense an active wormhole by focusing on the stream of algolnium energy it emitted. She said it was how he'd detected the cave in Abydos and now it was happening again.

Peter exhaled slowly. "You may have just found the cult's headquarters. That was no random theft."

"Cult members could have been following us ever since we arrived." Neal stood back to inspect the stucco wall. There were no windows. How'd they be able to get inside undetected would be a major challenge.

They noted the address on the door which was indicated by only a number. The front entrance was around the block on Rue Azbezt. The carved wood door was simply adorned with a brass number, but it appeared to be a luxurious dwelling. The peach-colored stucco was in sharp contrast to the dark wood of the door. Containers of palms lined the walkway leading to the entrance. Peter had made an appointment with a colleague in Marrakesh before they left Arkham. He was counting on her to be able to find out information about the owner.

They'd prefer to avoid going to the police. Sara's Interpol contact had spoken of suspicious incidents in Morocco and warned that not everyone on the police force could be trusted. Morocco was in the midst of political unrest and terrorism. Although on the surface, Marrakesh appeared a safe location to visit, their Meropian advisors also had warned them to steer clear of the government if at all possible.

Sunset was falling. Their appointment with Peter's archaeologist colleague wasn't till morning. Peter recommended that for now their best recourse was to return to the hotel. El was likely already waiting for them in their suite. Neal was anxious to hear her report, but in a way it was moot. They'd already obtained confirmation that the cult was active in Marrakesh.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Their hotel, La Mamounia, was a short walk away. It had been chosen by Gideon. The Meropian had assimilated himself into society as a global financier headquartered in London, and he appeared to enjoy the trappings fitting for a man of his wealth. Their hotel was ranked as one of the most luxurious in the world. It was a universe apart from the modest accommodations Peter used to frequent.

The hotel was surrounded by gardens. Its ornate tilework, courtyards, and swimming pools made Peter feel like he was living in a palace. Gideon's assistant Fei Hong had reserved a two-bedroom suite for them. Suites were considered more appropriate both for privacy and security reasons.

El was sitting on the balcony of their suite when they arrived. Neal headed off to take a shower, leaving it to Peter to explain the theft.

"We must have been followed," El said, worrying her lower lip, after she heard the account. "Is our every move being tracked?"

"We have to act as if it is," Peter said. "I shouldn't have let you go unaccompanied to the coroner's."

"I took a taxi straight back to the hotel."

"Which could have driven by a cultist. You might have been kidnapped. From now on, nobody travels alone."

She nodded. "Agreed, and that goes for you too. On the plus side, Neal discovered where the wormhole is. The thief might have known he was being followed but he couldn't be aware of Neal's ability."

"But we don't know how we'll be able to get inside. For now, we may have to abandon any thought of closing the vortex. We can make a return trip later when we're better prepared."

She raised a brow. "How can we be better prepared? Call the Army to accompany us? We already decided federal authorities can't be brought in."

Peter didn't have a good answer for her. They'd agreed the government couldn't be informed about the presence of extraterrestrials on Earth. Their alien advisors Lavinia and Gideon had a low opinion of government agencies and were adamantly opposed to bringing in outside experts. Who could argue with their reasoning? If they somehow succeeded in convincing the authorities of the accuracy of their statements, Neal would immediately be placed in quarantine along with Lavinia and Gideon.

"Interpol may be able to help with the cult," Peter said. "If the members are rounded up, then perhaps Neal will have an opportunity to safely close the wormhole." The notion was most likely impractical, but what other options did they have?

Neal came out of his bedroom, looking refreshed in linen pants and a short-sleeved shirt, a reminder Peter needed to clean up as well. "At least we can be comforted that the hotel security is excellent," he added, glad Neal could hear his words of caution. "Even so, we shouldn't press our luck."

Neal frowned but he didn't argue. He realized they had no means to take down a cult stronghold. "El, what did you find out at the coroner's?"

"Blood was discovered under the victim's nails, presumably from his attacker. My analysis confirmed our suspicions. Whoever attacked him was likely being controlled by a zoog."

Peter's gloom increased. Additional evidence of cult activity, as if they needed any.

"Should we alert Diana?" Neal asked, not appearing distressed by the news. He must have already assumed the results would be positive. "Someone knew we'd be in Marrakesh. Cult members may have moved back to Arkham."

"Even if they had, it wouldn't have been easy to discover our travel plans," El noted. A knock on the front door caused her to pause. "That's probably room service. They said they were going to bring up a bowl of dates and mint tea."

"I'll get it." Neal was already heading for the door, but Peter was half a mind to insist he answer the knock instead. He knew he was being irrational. Neal was no longer the eight-year-old kid he'd traveled back in time to rescue. If he attempted to slap down restrictions, Neal would complain vociferously. He'd already survived multiple attacks. Neal would likely argue Peter and El were the ones who needed to be safeguarded.

"Henry!" Neal broke into a wide smile at the man standing at the entrance and pulled him inside. "Elizabeth, Peter, meet Henry Chaseman. He's changed just a little since the last time Peter saw him."

"I should hope so," Henry said with a grin, "given that was fourteen years ago." He strode over to El to shake her hand. "A pleasure."

Maybe for him, and clearly for El who appeared charmed, but for Peter, not so much. Sure he'd hoped to meet Henry, but the guy was a big unknown, and the timing was beyond suspicious. First the cult, now Henry. Was he in league with the enemy? Was that why the cult knew they were in Marrakesh? Maybe Henry had been recruited and there was a zoog nesting in his cranium.

Henry had revealed virtually nothing about how he made ends meet. Peter had asked Diana to check if he had a record, and the results were not comforting. A suspected mercenary, hustler, and thief. No known employer. This was a far cry from the boy who'd befriended Neal as a child.

Henry was a couple of inches shorter than Neal but built much more powerfully. His brown hair was cropped short. He still had a few freckles sprinkled over his nose. He appeared relaxed and friendly. Peter tried to be as well, but until he knew more, he wasn't about to welcome him into the band.

"I finished a job not far from here and decided to take Neal up on his offer," Henry explained.

_And what kind of job was that?_ Peter bit back the words, hoping Neal would ask instead.

"We arrived this morning," Neal said. "How did you know which hotel we were in?"

Henry smiled and shrugged. "You weren't hard to find. I was looking forward to renewing my acquaintance with Peter. If I'd known how charming your wife is, I would have stopped by earlier." He paused. "I'm glad I didn't need to make an appointment. Judging by your popularity, I thought there might be a line."

Peter grew even more uneasy. How had Henry found out about the chase?

"When I was in the lobby, I heard a woman ask about you," Henry continued. "She not only inquired about Neal but Peter as well. She attempted to get your room numbers but the hotel wouldn't give them out."

"Did you catch her name?" Neal asked. To Peter's chagrin, he didn't follow up with the obvious question. If the hotel hadn't given out the information to the woman, how had Henry found out?

"She introduced herself as Raquel Dubois. Claimed to be a guest, and since she was wearing a caftan over a swimsuit, she probably was." Henry shrugged carelessly. "Or she was putting up a good act. Last I saw her, she was lounging by one of the pools. She a friend of yours?"

"We met her in France," Neal said. "She's with Interpol. There were no messages from her for us. I wonder why she didn't call our suite."

Henry flicked Peter an appraising look. "You have interesting lives, jet-setting across the globe, staying in palaces, hobnobbing with Interpol. The intergalactic security business must be prospering."

If Henry intended for him to divulge anything, he'd have to first explain his own business. "We're here to check out an archaeological site," Peter said calmly. "This is Elizabeth and Neal's first time to Marrakesh. The hotel is a splurge indulgence."

"Um-hm." Henry didn't challenge him but his skepticism was on full display.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal decided to call a timeout to the standoff. He was much more interested in discovering what Raquel was up to than worrying about Henry being a cult member. Meanwhile, Peter was giving Henry the once-over as if he thought a ghast had taken up residence inside him. Neal had a stack of questions too, but he was positive Henry was no threat.

"Peter, you wanted to take a shower," Neal said. "I'll go downstairs and speak with Raquel." When Peter started to object, he added, "I won't let on I heard anything but I'm curious to see how she reacts when she sees me. She's on the Interpol cult task force. She may have heard about cult activity in Marrakesh."

"But that doesn't explain how she found out about us being in town?" El said, her brow creased with concern. "Diana arranged for me to meet with the coroner, but she didn't say anything to me about contacting Interpol."

"I don't know," Neal said, "but I'd like to find out. It's possible she's the one responsible for us being followed." He turned to Henry. "You said she was by one of the swimming pools. There are several in the hotel. Which one?"

"I'll go along and show you." Neal was relieved Henry picked up on the unspoken suggestion.

Peter looked like he wanted to object but El forestalled him. "Henry, I hope you'll join us for dinner. We've barely had a chance to chat."

"I'd love to, thanks." Henry's smile was warm. He made no sign of being discomfited by Peter's unease. Neal suspected the cause wasn't Henry so much as it was the accumulating pressure of the threats surrounding them. They were taking more of a toll on Peter than Neal had realized. The chase was just the latest example.

"Don't blame Peter for being suspicious," Henry said once they were in the hallway. "He doesn't know anything about me. Hell, I wouldn't trust me."

"We're not completely ignorant about you," Neal said, deciding to be upfront. Better that Henry should hear it from him. Besides, he was curious to see how Henry would respond. "When we heard you were living overseas and using an alias, Peter asked a friend on the police force to look you up. She reported that you're suspected of working with mercenaries."

Henry half-lifted one shoulder. Could that be called a confirmation? "Anything else?" he added calmly as they waited for the elevator.

"A few items. They believe you're a thief, a gambler, and a hustler but admitted you've never been arrested."

"So those are all hypotheticals. What was your reaction?"

Neal chuckled. "None of it surprises me. You were already an expert pickpocket as a kid."

"You knew?" he said, acting dismayed. Was Henry trying to con him?

"Of course I knew. I wasn't as innocent as you apparently thought. I was also impressed by your skill." Neal paused when the elevator arrived and was pleased that the car was empty. They could talk without fear of being overheard. "I'll never forget you stealing gingerbread to give to me. I don't how I would have survived if you hadn't befriended me."

"That was a long time ago, kiddo."

"Not to me." Neal didn't elaborate that he'd experienced the events less than a month ago. Henry wasn't ready for that, but he already knew that Peter had engaged in some sort of time travel. "And not to Peter. He still tends to think of me as a kid. That's why he's so . . ."

"Looming?"

Neal grinned. "His protective instinct's in overdrive."

"I'd like to know more about what actually happened."

"And I'd like to tell you, but there are some steps you'd need to go through first. What we've involved with is deadly serious, and there are several excellent reasons why we don't discuss it with anyone outside the group."

Henry studied him for a moment. "Those invisible bad guys?"

Neal hesitated then nodded. He'd never told Henry the true nature of ghasts but he could lift the curtain a little. "They're not a danger to me, but they are to others. And I've learned our foes have some far worse weapons at their disposal."

"You mean Dr. Octopus?"

Neal chuckled. "Mozzie told me what he'd led you to believe. Dr. Octopus is still out there."

"I won't bug you for more information. I hope you appreciate I'm not even asking about the cult you're worried about or why you think you're being followed. But it's already clear it's best if we're not seen together. Raquel is sitting by the inside pool. It's along the passageway leading to the gardens. I'll keep an eye on you two, but don't worry, she won't know it."

_She won't?_ Mozzie had speculated to Peter that Henry could be part of a Mission Impossible team. Neal hadn't taken the remark seriously, but maybe he should have.

Raquel was still at the pool. She was relaxed in a lounger in a skimpy black bikini that did more to reveal than conceal. There were few other people in the vaulted space. The pool had an intricate tile floor design that was surrounded on all four sides by carved stucco archways. Lanterns of Moroccan glass were suspended from the arches, making the lounges along the deck appear to be in private niches.

Neal strode to the pool as if to admire it, not paying any attention to Raquel. It only took a minute for her to call out to him in French, "Neal, is that you?"

He spun around. "Raquel? What a pleasant surprise!" He sat down on a lounger next to her. "Are you on vacation?"

"With a little business mixed in. A report arrived at the office of possible cult activity and I offered to go." She glanced around and smiled mischievously. "I upgraded my accommodations. I didn't dream I'd see you here." She cocked her head. "What brings you to Marrakesh?"

* * *

_Notes: Thanks for reading! Peter's not sure whether he should be more concerned about Raquel or Henry. He'll learn the answer next week. Scorpion Hill has 4 chapters which I'll post weekly on Wednesday._

_Background for new readers: FBI Agent Diana Berrigan began writing Arkham Files fics as part of a strategy to capture a cybercriminal nicknamed Azathoth. She is now sharing writing duties with Mozzie. Most of the characters are drawn from the world of White Collar and retain their same given names. Events and characters in Arkham Files are sometimes referenced in the Caffrey Conversation stories and have an impact on plot development. _

_Penna Nomen created the Caffrey Conversation AU and is the head muse for our series. _

_Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation_  
_Story Visuals and Music: The Scorpion Hill board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website  
Twitter: silbrith  
_


	2. Catching Up

**Chapter 2: Catching Up**

**Marrakesh, Morocco. Wednesday, January 7, 1976.**

El sighed as she watched her husband fling on clothes. After he came out of the shower, he'd barely taken the time to dry himself off. Ever since Neal's abduction into the past, Peter was obsessed with the safety of the young man they'd grown to regard as a member of their family. She suspected it was in large measure because her husband grew accustomed to thinking of him as a child and now found it difficult to stop.

Complicating the issue was Peter's lingering guilt over not having been able to prevent his younger brother's death in Vietnam. Tommy had been an artist. Peter felt he didn't have the right temperament to be a soldier and had argued against him volunteering. But Tommy, like Neal, had a mind of his own and wasn't easily swayed.

Peter was suspicious of Henry's motives, but El was more concerned about Raquel. In Lyon, the Interpol agent had been solicitous on their behalf. After Sara spotted a cult agent, Raquel had immediately increased security. But up to Sara's chance encounter, Raquel had assured them the cult wasn't active in Lyon. Shouldn't she have known?

On the other hand, her office could have heard about cult activity in Marrakesh just as Sara's Interpol contact in London had. Raquel was on the cult task force. Dispatching her to the scene would have been a logical choice.

"For all we know, Henry could be working with the cult," Peter said, rummaging in the closet for a shirt. "Neal told him about our upcoming trip to Marrakesh. Henry could have alerted them. That's why we were followed."

"Then why did he warn us about Raquel?"

Peter shrugged. "It could have been a devious attempt to win us over. He's sacrificing a pawn in order to gain our confidence." He pulled out an ecru linen shirt and slipped it on. "I'm ready," he declared. "Let's go."

She gave him the once-over. "Do you want to button your shirt first?"

He frowned. "I'll finish on the way to the elevator."

When they reached the ground floor, they found Neal engaged in conversation with Raquel by the indoor pool. Henry was nowhere to be seen, and this was one time El was glad Sara wasn't present. Neal was giving a remarkably good performance of being charmed by Raquel's allure which was provocatively on display. El hadn't realized Neal was such a skilled actor or that European bikinis were so tiny.

He waved them over when he saw them enter the pool area. "Raquel and I were just discussing the local nightlife. She's offered to take us to dinner."

Was she the one who suggested all of them should go, or had Neal managed to include them in the invitation? Whatever. Peter could relax. No matter what happened, they'd be in a group. El never did spot Henry during their conversation, but later Neal spoke briefly with him by the elevators. El was disappointed they couldn't take Henry to dinner but she vowed to make up for it the next day.

Throughout the evening, Raquel couldn't have been a better hostess. They rode in a horse-drawn carriage to the restaurant which prided itself on serving authentic Moroccan cuisine. Entertainment was provided by local singers instead of the belly dancers El had dreaded. She'd learned from past experience they only made her want to hit the gym more often.

Raquel's explanation of why she was in town made sense. It was as El suspected. Interpol had dispatched her to check into the cult situation.

Their group had agreed in advance to only discuss the archaeological purpose of their visit with Raquel, but were they being overly cautious? They now had proof of cult involvement. Didn't Raquel need to be made aware? Her inquiry at the hotel desk was most likely completely innocent. Diana might have alerted Interpol about their arrival and simply forgot to mention it.

Only one incident marred the evening. An American tourist who'd had too much to drink jostled Neal's elbow just as he was about to take a sip of his cocktail. The klutz succeeded in spilling Neal's drink on both Neal and himself. He insisted on trying to clean Neal's jacket, but Neal laughed it off, saying the hotel would take care of it.

"What's your assessment of Raquel now?" Peter asked Neal once they were back in their suite. "Do you continue to believe she may work for Azathoth?"

"The jury's still out," he said, shrugging off his stained jacket. "But she has another strike against her."

El stepped out of her shoes. "Why do you say that? She's an Interpol agent. She must be obligated to be circumspect, just like we are." She heard a soft knock on the door. Surely not more fruit and chocolates at this hour. She couldn't manage another bite.

"I'll get that," Peter said, slipping his jacket back on while El retrieved the heels she'd just removed.

Peter opened the door to see the American tourist who'd crashed into Neal. He had long hair and a scruffy beard. All he needed was a headband to look like a hippie from the '60s.

A delighted grin crossed Neal's mouth. "Hey, Henry! I was hoping it was you at the door."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal stood back to enjoy Peter and El's astonishment to the news that the tourist standing in front of them was actually Henry. Neal had seen through the disguise at the restaurant.

"I'm glad I was able to fool some of you," Henry said, pulling off his wig. "That was my objective."

"Thanks for the save," Neal said.

"My pleasure. It was the confirmation we were looking for."

"What are you two talking about?" El asked, looking not so much bewildered as frustrated.

"This." Henry reached into his jacket pocket and fished out a bottle containing a small amount of liquid. He handed it to El. "You're a doctor. Are you able to have this analyzed? I can arrange for it to be tested but it will take longer."

"I assume that's a sample of the drink," Neal said.

"Right. There are trace chemicals on your jacket, but they'll be harder to analyze, plus your jacket may never be the same."

"Neal, did you know Henry was following us?" Peter demanded.

"Not until the incident," he admitted. "When Henry pretended to blot the liquid, he warned me Raquel had slipped something into my drink. I didn't have a chance to explain till now."

El held the bottle to the light, frowning as she studied its contents. "Thank you, Henry. I don't know how you managed to siphon off any of the liquid, but I'm grateful. Neal was poisoned in an earlier incident. I can test this in a lab tomorrow, but it will require further analysis in Arkham."

Neal knew what she was thinking. One of the components might be ymarite, the chemical which had allowed Azathoth to track him. Whatever it was, he was willing to wager Raquel wasn't carrying out an Interpol directive.

"The skill with which you accomplished it . . ." Peter studied Henry as if seeing him in a new light. "Are you CIA?"

"No, but you're not far off. I realize you have questions about me, and rightfully so. Back when I first met you, Neal was hiding out from enemies. It's clear that the risk continues. Your wariness is completely justified in light of what happened at dinner. When I left the States, I knocked around Europe. Did some jobs in Africa." He glanced at Neal. "Picked up some skills that you could find useful. In my present job, I contract for a Canadian outfit that performs covert intelligence."

"For whom?" Peter asked. "The Canadians?"

Henry snorted. "They're the least likely to hire us."

"Then who does?"

"Mainly the governments of smaller countries who can't afford their own intelligence agencies. I've worked with the firm for three years. No point in giving you their name. If you asked them about me, they'd deny my existence. You probably don't find that much of a comfort."

Peter's only answer was a slow exhale of confirmation.

"Look, I know you don't trust me . . . yet," Henry added. "And I haven't gone through whatever weird verification process you require for someone to become a member of your club, but you don't have to worry about me." He hesitated a moment. "Do you remember the first time we met in Providence, I asked if you and Mozzie were the Two Wise Men?"

Peter relaxed into a smile. "You were a cocky kid."

"Then you'll recall your words to me. You said it was time for me to be the third."

"Back then you took a leap of faith with two strangers." Peter nodded slowly. "I guess it's my turn."

That moment must have seemed to be in the distant past for Henry but it wasn't for Peter. Henry's image as a twelve-year-old flashed through Neal's mind. Henry had kept him safe and only reluctantly agreed to pass the reins to Peter and Mozzie.

"I'm glad you realize it," Henry said. "I'm still on your side. I've got some free time before my next job and I'm offering to help free of charge." Henry flashed Peter a smile that could charm anyone. "C'mon, man. I've been training to be a Guardian of the Universe ever since you and Mozzie dropped me off at the home. I won't even ask for my magic ring . . . yet."

"How are you at burglaries?" Neal asked, taking the bull by the horns before Peter had a chance to raise any objections.

Henry grinned. "That's one of my specialties."

"Then welcome aboard. Someone stole an item Peter bought at the medina and we want it back." Neal explained the sequence of events at the market. "But it's more than just recovering stolen property," he warned. "I need to find a way to sneak inside."

"Why do you have to be present?" Henry asked.

_Nothing much, just seal a wormhole_. "Reconnoiter," Neal said, hoping the vague explanation would satisfy him.

Henry didn't press for details but dropped onto the couch and extended his arms along the top of the back cushions. "You've been in Marrakesh less than twenty-four hours. The theft could have been a random event, but not what your Interpol agent did. I realize you don't feel comfortable telling me much about what you're into, but do you have a few crumbs you could share?"

"That's the least we can do," Peter said, sitting down on the couch next to him. "We've had a few run-ins with a cult in Arkham."

"What's the name?" Henry asked. "I may have heard of them."

"They call themselves the Church of Starry Wisdom. Their numbers are few but they have a global presence."

Henry shook his head slowly. "Doesn't ring a bell. How dangerous are they?"

"Very," El said. "In Arkham, they were responsible for several murders and kidnappings. Last November, a member of the cult killed a scientist in Lyon, France shortly before we arrived. That's also where we met Raquel."

"Are you open to the possibility she's working with them?" Henry asked.

"We're forced to be," Neal said. "But if she is, she has an excellent cover. She's a member of the cult task force for Interpol."

"She could be the reason Interpol hasn't made any progress in eradicating the cult," Peter said, nodding thoughtfully. "Raquel knew we were here. She could have passed the information onto the cult."

"And there's something else." Neal hesitated for a moment. Could his senses have been deceived? But the scent had been too intense to be forgotten. "Did you notice the perfume Raquel was wearing?"

"I did," El said. "It smelled of sandalwood and had some floral overtones I couldn't identify."

"She wore the same scent the day she took me on a tour of the traboules in Lyon," Neal said. "I smelled the same fragrance in Egypt. At the time I couldn't place it, but I'm sure of it now."

Peter looked at him startled. "The priestess?"

Henry's eyes were darting back and forth between them. "Are you talking about the cult?"

Neal nodded, wishing he could tell him he'd encountered the priestess in ancient Egypt. What was Raquel's connection to the priestess of Isis? They couldn't possibly be the same person, or could they? Was there something special about the perfume?

"I could try to get a sample for you," Henry offered. "She's bound to leave her room sometime during the day."

"She wants to meet us for breakfast," El said.

"Perfect," Henry said. "Did you arrange a time?"

"Eight o'clock."

"I'll come back then."

"No you won't," Neal said firmly. "You'll already be here. I assume you won't mind staying with us. You can have the bed in my room."

Henry raised a brow. "I hope you're not still sleeping in closets?"

Neal chuckled. "I gave that up years ago. This sofa makes into a bed. I'll be fine."

"If anyone is sleeping on a sofa, it's me," Henry argued. "As your security advisor, I insist on being closer to the front door."

Peter didn't fight the suggestion. The worry lines had already faded from his forehead.

Henry nodded with evident satisfaction at not getting any blowback. "Since I'm now a provisional guardian, care to fill me in on the rest of your schedule?"

"We're not going to stay here any longer than absolutely necessary," Peter said, "not with the cult aware of our presence. Tomorrow morning we'll meet with my contact. She should have the paperwork prepared for us to visit the cave. I hope she'll also provide information about who lives in the riad. We can drop El off at the medical lab on our way to the meeting."

"That will give me a chance to check out the building," Henry said. "Every location has its weak spot, and finding it is in my skill set."

"I'll go with you," Neal offered. "I'm not needed at the meeting."

Henry shot a quick glance at Peter. "For what I'm doing, I'd rather work alone. Besides, the less we're seen together, the better."

Neal reluctantly agreed, feeling he'd been outmaneuvered. Did Henry argue against it because he knew Peter didn't fully trust him?

"See if your archaeologist friend can arrange for you to meet with the riad owner," Henry suggested. "Use whatever excuse you need to. If possible, make it for the afternoon. I'll sneak in while you keep him occupied."

"You don't know anything about the dangers you might encounter," El objected. "We already assume this is the headquarters of the cult."

Henry shrugged. "I bet the guy doesn't want to be exposed. He must have gone to a great deal of trouble to safeguard his cover. Your status as American scholars should keep you safe from anything overt. But I can go in at a different time if you'd rather. I can aim for the middle of the night."

"No," Neal said firmly. "Any attempt must be made in daylight."

Henry frowned. "Those invisible bad guys you were worried about still only come out at night?"

Neal nodded. "You're much more at risk than I am. That's why I'm going with you when you break in." He scanned the group. "That's _not_ up for discussion. Henry doesn't know what to watch out for."

Henry looked as unhappy about the proposal as Peter. "That's not gonna work. I don't take rookies along. Surely you can tell me what the object looks like. I bet you're still an artist. You can draw me a picture."

"That won't help." Neal turned to Peter. "Back me up on this. You know as well as I do that I have to be there."

Peter exhaled, clearly not satisfied but he couldn't argue against it. "Neal's right, Henry. You're supposed to be an expert for a job like this. You'll need to prove it by not letting either you or Neal be discovered. Then, assuming you're not in prison, we'll all visit the cave the following day." Peter relaxed enough to give a small chuckle at Henry's grin. "Yeah, you can ride shotgun. It's a couple of hours south of here in the foothills of the Atlas Mountains. I already have a Jeep reserved for the trek."

Now Henry was the one to glower. "You'll be sitting ducks if you take off for the mountains. I assume you don't want the cult following you. We'll need another diversion."

"I already have something in mind," Peter said complacently.

Henry gave him an appreciative nod. "That's what I like to hear—teamwork. And no secrets."

"I'll fill you in on the details tomorrow," Peter promised. "They're contingent on my colleague's cooperation. I'd rather not commit her participation until she's signed off on it."

El stood up, holding her hand in front of her mouth as she yawned. "It's been a long day and I'm still on Arkham time. Henry, we have extra pillows and blankets in our closet. I'll bring them out for you."

"I'm heading for bed too," Peter announced.

Neal suspected their sudden sleepiness was a convenient excuse to give him time alone with Henry, and he appreciated the gesture. After retrieving the bedding, he asked Henry, "Would you like a beer? The mini-fridge is stocked with Casablanca lager. Peter's the beer-drinker of the group and he claims it's quite acceptable."

"Something he and I have in common." Henry retrieved a bottle. "Do you want anything?"

"There's a small bottle of Chardonnay. I'll take that, thanks."

Henry tossed it to him. "I figured you had to branch out to something besides coffee." His smile faded. "We've got a lot of catching up to do. Is everything about your life a closed book?"

"Not everything," Neal hedged. "How about you?"

"There are a few safe subjects I can think of offhand. We'll probably find others."

They stayed up late into the night, swapping stories while steering clear of sensitive areas. As far as Neal was concerned, anything up to the time when he saw his first ghast could be discussed. For Henry, the non-quarantined areas appeared to be centered around the home in Providence.

In some respects, they were opposites. Neal used to escape from the problems at his foster home by spending as much time as possible at school or in the library. Henry enjoyed the shelter but did everything he could to avoid studying.

"I wish I'd been there for you back then," Henry said. "It doesn't sound like you had many kids to play with."

"I wish I'd known you too, but I managed. Mozzie made a big difference once he entered my life. He helped me escape the home by sponsoring my early admittance into Miskatonic." Neal stood up and retrieved another beer for Henry from the fridge. "I gather you took off for Europe after high school."

He nodded, popping the cap off the bottle. "The States had become an unfriendly place."

"That was during the war. Several of my friends went on to grad school to avoid being drafted." Neal figured he was venturing into sensitive territory, but he wanted to show Henry that he was okay with whatever decision he'd made.

"You were too young for it to be an issue," Henry commented, not answering him directly. "By the time you were of draft age, the war was winding down. It was different for me. I had a high draft number and probably wouldn't have been called, but I wanted to serve." He shrugged. "If they would have let me."

Neal stared, at a loss for words. He hadn't considered that a health issue could have prevented Henry from serving. His mind leaped through a score of nasty scenarios. "Medical condition?" he asked, bracing himself for bad news.

Henry gave a bitter chuckle. "The Army thought so. I'm gay. Realized it when I was in high school. I would have had to lie in order to enlist. I know some who did, but that's not me." He relaxed back on the couch and gave Neal an appraising look.

Neal admired the way he handled it. Henry was at peace with who he was. Neal should do the same, whatever he turned out to be. "That's not a problem in Arkham. Several of the faculty members are gay. Mozzie started a club for non-straight students a few years ago."

"Is he gay?'

"He refuses to be confined by binary restrictions—that's a quote, by the way. Mozzie's not alone in that attitude. "

"He sounds like some people I met in Amsterdam."

"You'd find Arkham a welcoming place," Neal said. "We've got a little of everything there." _Even extraterrestrials_. "Live and let live is pretty much the attitude around town. So do you have a boyfriend?"

"Nope, but I'm glad you brought up the subject. You never answered my question about that redhead I saw you skating with."

"I'd call her my girlfriend, but that doesn't seem fair to her. She's working in London, and I don't get to see her very often. Sara's looking forward to meeting you."

"So you told her about me!" Henry said, looking delighted. "Wait, is she a member of your secret club too?"

Neal winced. "Sorry."

"Man, you're killing me."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

By the amount of coffee Neal glugged over breakfast, Peter assumed he and Henry hadn't gotten much sleep. At some point, Henry must have retrieved his bag since he was no longer dressed as a beatnik tourist.

The breakfast with Raquel was uneventful, but it served its purpose. Henry was able to collect a sample of her perfume. Meanwhile Peter's opinion of him was improving steadily, having been given a major boost by Neal's positive report. Although he still had a thousand questions, he was holding off for now. If Henry returned with them to Arkham, there'd be plenty of time, and personally Peter was looking forward to Henry being subjected to Lavinia's peculiar form of cross-examination.

El decided to delay an analysis of the samples. At this point, they assumed Raquel was at the very least a cult member. If there were alien substances in the liquids, only the Meropian equipment back in the lab would be able to detect them. But the decisive factor was that El's presence at the meeting was essential for the plan Peter had devised the previous evening. He'd remembered Hayat Boutella as a woman who thrived on the unconventional approach. He hoped she still was.

His Moroccan colleague had a small office at Cadi Ayyad University. Like archaeology professors everywhere, the space was crammed with a mixture of journals, potsherds and mugs half-filled with a stale beverage, tea in her case.

Peter helped Hayat scrounge extra chairs for El and Neal which they clustered around her desk. Among the photos on the wall was one of him and Hayat in the Atlas Mountains. Peter had met her on that earlier dig. Hayat was roughly his age, one of the new generation of Arabic archaeologists. She specialized in the Paleolithic rock art which was increasingly being discovered in Morocco.

"Are you sure of the address?" Hayat asked, her dark expressive eyes looking troubled, when Peter inquired about the owner of the riad.

"Positive," Peter confirmed.

"The reason I asked is because that riad is owned by Saalim Kattan," Hayat explained. "He made his money in the mining industry and is a member of the Cabinet. He's said to have the ear of the king." She paused for a moment, her eyes drifting to the collection of potsherds. "That said, he is also rumored to have a finger in the illicit sale of archaeological treasures. It's of particular concern since he's a close friend of the Minister of Antiquities. Do you believe that one of his employees stole the artifact?"

"I wouldn't go that far," Peter said smoothly. "From the sound of it, the thief may have simply thought Mr. Kattan would be interested in purchasing it." He wished he could warn her about Kattan. The man held a position of authority within the government and could use his connections to exert influence over the king himself. Lavinia suspected that the cult was seeking to undermine political stability in order to pave the way for a future invasion. This could be the first concrete example.

"Professor Carter has never seen the cave we explored, but he's assisted me at other Neolithic sites," Peter continued. "We're preparing an assessment for our university. Miskatonic may fund a dig if we can document sufficient potential. I'd like to ensure that we're not followed to the cave."

"You fear thieves are tracking your movements," she said. "In light of what happened earlier, I don't blame you. How can I help?"

"Are you still leading an excavation team at El Badi Palace?"

She nodded. "I'm meeting my students there tomorrow."

"We'd like to offer our assistance, or at least the appearance of it."

A half-smile crossed Hayat's lips. "What do you have in mind?"

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

"Hayat said she'd acquire traditional Moroccan attire for us," Neal told Henry. "We'll all be in djebellas and El will wear a hijab. No one will recognize us." The loose robes were ideal for their purposes. They had attached hoods that could be used to further conceal their appearance.

They'd returned to the hotel after meeting with Hayat. While waiting for Henry to return, Peter had called Kattan to ask for an appointment. He was able to schedule it for later in the day. They'd assumed the man was in town since the thief had entered his home, but that he agreed so promptly to an appointment was telling. To Neal, the inference was clear. He already knew who Peter was and was curious to find out what he wanted.

Peter and El planned to use the same cover they had with Raquel and Hayat, namely that Miskatonic University was interested in mounting an exploratory expedition to Morocco.

Henry listened to them with an amused smile when they told him about the deception. The ruins of El Badi Palace were only a few blocks from their hotel. Neal, Peter, and El would arrive at the site in their western clothes and enter an interior section of the palace. There they'd change into their Moroccan garments. Henry would meet them at the prearranged time with Peter's Jeep. They'd drive straight from the palace to Scorpion Hill.

Peter believed they'd have plenty of time for a preliminary inspection. Laban Shrewsbury had directions in one of his journals for a cave at that location. The purpose of this trip was to see if they could relocate it and if it was worth a full-scale expedition. The site Peter had excavated on an earlier trip was in the vicinity. It contained rock art of the distinctive Elnath starfish, but there had been nothing that suggested the tentacle-crowned Elnath.

"Don't spend much time in the riad looking for the statue," Peter said. "It's not worth the risk."

Neal didn't dispute the point with Peter. The real reason he was going in was to seal the wormhole, but how he'd explain that to Henry he hadn't figured out yet.

Based on his reconnaissance, Henry recommended he and Neal disguise themselves as employees of the power company. He'd seen maintenance workers in his morning surveillance and had already obtained the uniforms. The power lines ran from poles onto the roofs of the buildings, providing a handy justification. No one asked Henry how he'd acquired the uniforms. They were just glad he was on their side.

* * *

_Notes: Henry and Peter's friendship appears to be on the right trajectory after a few hiccups. Henry's been accepted as a provisional member of the band, and Peter sympathizes with his reason for not serving in the military. The Vietnam War was over by the time Arkham Files began, but the lingering effects are still being felt. I wrote about the "Shadow of Vietnam" for the blog this week. _

_Penna wrote about her Chocolate Box stories for the blog. The fandoms for her latest collection include White Collar, Northanger Abbey, Pride and Prejudice, Frozen, The Good Place, Good Omens, Stargate Atlantis x Castle, and an original work. I had the pleasure of being a beta reader for them and am delighted that the authors have been revealed so you can find them easily by searching on Penna Nomen's name. So many marvelous stories, I couldn't possibly pick a favorite. They're all short so give yourself a treat and read them all!_

_Back in Arkham Files, Neal realizes that for Henry to continue to work with the group, he'll need to be tested by Lavinia. But the first trial by fire comes next week when the pair sneak into the riad. _

__Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation_  
_Story Visuals and Music: The Scorpion Hill board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website  
Twitter: silbrith__


	3. Defense Mechanisms

**Chapter 3: Defense Mechanisms**

**Marrakesh, Morocco. Thursday, January 8, 1976.**

By midafternoon, Neal and Henry were on the roof of Kattan's riad. Disguised as the newest employees of Marrakesh's power company, they both wore loose coverall uniforms and had cloth tool bags strapped to their waists. Neal had already replaced his shoes with soft climbing slippers supplied by Henry.

Neal kept watch as Henry tied a polyester cable to a drainage pipe. They'd use the cable to descend through the courtyard into the building. The riad had three floors. Their destination was a terrace on the top floor.

"I'd feel better if you'd let me sneak in alone," Henry said, yanking the knot tight. "You've given me a detailed description of the statue. There's no need for you to put yourself in jeopardy. Besides, you'll be doing me a service. If anyone should come along, you can invent a plausible explanation for the cable." He paused and gave him a sharp look. "Unless, that is, there's something else you're looking for."

Neal took a breath. "You guessed." His vague comments to Peter about the necessity of him going along must have waved numerous red flags at Henry.

He shrugged. "As protective as Peter is, it doesn't make sense for him to allow you to accompany me unless there's some very compelling reason."

"And there is, but I can't tell you anything about it."

"You're not making it easy, you know," Henry said, frowning.

"I realize how frustrating it is for you. It is for me too." All Henry needed to do was give him a nudge and he'd likely spill everything, but Henry held off. Did he ease up because he knew what a tough situation Neal was in? Still, for his own sake, Henry needed to be at least as well informed as Diana was back in Arkham. "You're armed, I assume?" Neal asked.

"Yeah, a knife and a gun equipped with a silencer."

"Good. You may need them."

"You expect Kattan's henchmen to ambush us?"

"Not so much them as an animal. It looks like a large rat and is about the size of a large squirrel. You can recognize it by the tentacles on its snout."

Henry's eyes widened. "Tentacles, huh? Is it vicious?"

"Potentially deadly. It's called a zoog. Don't let it bite you."

Henry nodded slowly. "Got it. Avoid all tentacle-snouted rats."

Neal was glad Henry didn't grill him on where they came from. That would have to wait till Henry had obtained clearance.

"The rope's ready," Henry said. "Let me go down first. Once I'm on the balcony, I'll give you a signal when it's safe."

With that, Henry dropped off the edge of the roof and started his descent. Neal held the cable to keep it steady, but it really wasn't necessary.

He'd assured Henry he'd have no difficulty with the climb. Conceivably, Henry got the incorrect impression that Neal was an expert climber. Still, there were knots at regular intervals to use as grips. For someone who'd ridden on shantaks and climbed to a crow's nest on a galleon, how difficult could it be? Neal winced as he imagined how Peter would answer. He promised himself that if he could just avoid disgracing himself today, he'd take up rock climbing as soon as he got back to Arkham.

Henry had tied the cable to a corner of the building so it would be less noticeable. The polyester cord was painted a soft peach that closely matched the color of the stucco. The corner he'd picked was in the shadows. Henry was worried about being spotted from the courtyard but Neal was more anxious about what they'd find inside.

With the help of his amulet, he'd been able to close wormholes in Arkham and Providence. Would Marrakesh soon be added to his list?

He watched as Henry swung onto the balcony of the third floor. After tying the end of the cable to the railing, he gave Neal a thumbs up.

Neal had already slipped on the climbing gloves provided by Henry. He slithered down with what he liked to think was the agility of a winged serpent. And maybe it was. Henry's glint of appreciation acted as a welcome confidence boost.

The riad was equipped with air-conditioning but on a mild day in January, the doors and windows were open. They'd landed in front of a bedroom which was fortunately unoccupied. Together they sneaked along the corridor bordering the courtyard.

The shimmer, along with the distinctive scent of ozone mixed with wind-swept ice, was even stronger now that Neal was inside the house.

Henry gripped his upper arm. "Let me go first," he mouthed.

Neal shook his head. "You don't know where to go."

"And you do? Are you psychic?"

"Later," Neal mouthed and stepped in front of him.

The shimmer blazed a path down the staircase and onto the second floor. A faint murmur of voices could be heard coming from the ground level. Suddenly, Henry grabbed him and pulled him into an alcove behind a large potted palm. They hid in the shadows as a woman carrying linens walked past them.

Neal counted two minutes before Henry would let him resume the search. Their goal was only one door down the hallway, but it was locked. That was good news as it meant the room was likely unoccupied.

Henry whipped out a small case from the pocket of his coveralls and selected a lock pick. Flashing a smile at Neal, he had it open an instant later. Neal's cheeks grew hot when he remembered his own fumbling attempts with lock picks. Yet another skill he needed to practice.

They slipped inside the dark room. With his enhanced night vision, the dimness presented no problem for Neal but Henry wouldn't be able to see much. "I'll switch on a light," Neal whispered.

"Don't!" Henry ordered, pulling out a flashlight. "The door was locked. Lights could be connected to an alarm sensor."

He wouldn't have thought of that. Henry had already proved his value many times over. Determined to do his bit, Neal reached for his own flashlight. "I'll sweep the area for zoogs."

The room appeared to be Kattan's office. It was sparsely furnished with a desk and a few side chairs. The jewel tones in the Persian rug tempered the austerity of the appointments. No paintings on the walls behind which a safe could be concealed, but a closet door looked promising. The lock on it was more elaborate than the door to the hallway, but it only took Henry a couple of extra seconds to pick.

What was inside was no simple closet, but a landing. They were standing at the top of a stone staircase. The steps shimmered as if they were a mountain stream, beckoning him downward. Henry couldn't see the iridescence, but a wall safe was in plain sight. While he tackled the lock, Neal checked out the robe dangling from a wall hook. He'd seen that style of garment before. It was a priest's cassock such as Keller wore in Arkham. The black robe had a deep vermilion band. A yellow hood was attached to it. The design was a copy of the garment worn by Azathoth's lieutenant Nyarlathotep who dwelled in the monastery of ice on the frozen plateau of Leng. An icy chill swept through Neal as he remembering his ordeal on Leng. Did that sparkling stream lead straight to the monastery? He had no business taking Henry along, but he knew in advance it'd be futile to try to convince him to remain upstairs.

"Hold your light closer," Henry requested. Luckily he hadn't noticed Neal's unease. "I could probably crack it by touch alone but I like to see what I'm doing. I wish I had your ability to see in the dark. Is that another one of those secrets you're not allowed to discuss?"

"'Fraid so."

"Right." Henry put his ear close to the dial. Neal could hear the soft clicks as the tumblers fell into place and retrieved a lightweight nylon backpack from his tool bag, hoping it would soon contain the artifact.

When the door to the safe swung open, Henry used his flashlight to scan the contents. "Is this your statue?" He pulled out the small earthenware figure.

Neal eyed it with delight. "Yes it is, and it appears undamaged." He wrapped the precious sculpture in a piece of padded museum wrap he'd obtained from Peter. "What else is inside?"

"Stock certificates . . . cash . . . some gold jewelry . . ." He pulled out a book. "You're the egghead. Is this valuable?"

Neal stared at it in disbelief. The _Book of Azathoth_. He'd seen it only once, in an abandoned house in Arkham which was a meeting place for the cult. He and Peter had been tossed into a wormhole. When they returned, the book had vanished.

"I gather by your stunned look it is," Henry said. "Stick it in the bag. You can tell me about it later, along with all those other secrets you're keeping."

Neal nodded, frustrated at the constraints. Henry had to be chafing even more. He consoled himself that they were on the clock. There was no time to pause and recount the fourteen thousand years of history of extraterrestrials on Earth.

Henry closed the safe. "I assume you want to investigate those stairs."

"I'd rather you stay here, but if you insist on accompanying me, stay a couple of paces back and do exactly what I say."

Henry cocked a brow. "Got it. Watch out for invisible bad guys and tentacle-snouted rodents."

"And perhaps worse." If this was a permanent wormhole, all bets were off. The Arkham portal had opened directly into the monastery of Leng.

The stone staircase consisted of three flights, ending well below the ground floor of the riad. The construction on the lowest flight was markedly different from that of the upper levels. Neal wished Peter was present. To him, the technique appeared identical to the staircase they'd found leading from the altar in the Osireion in ancient Egypt. But did that imply it was also thousands of years old?

The stairwell was eerily quiet. Henry relied on his flashlight to see where he was going. The glittering shimmer provided sufficient illumination for Neal. When they arrived at the bottom they were in a small enclosed space of perhaps eight feet square. The wormhole filled one wall in front of them.

"God, what is that?" Henry asked, staring awe-struck at the gaping maw of dark turbulent space.

"A wormhole into another universe." The vortex wasn't what he was focused on but the disk affixed to the wall next to it. The bronze plate was a failsafe device fabricated by Celaenians to reseal the wormhole. It was identical to the ones he'd found in Arkham and Providence. He reached inside his shirt for his amulet. Once he fit it into the center depression on the disk, the wormhole would close, and all that would be left was a blank wall.

"Watch out!"

Neal spun around to see Henry's knife slice through the air and skewer a zoog a few feet away.

"It darted out of the wormhole when you approached the disk," Henry said, walking up to it and poking it with his foot. "It's dead now. You want to take it, too, I suppose?"

Neal took a breath. "Yeah, thanks. It probably won't stay visible for long, but we need to get it back to El."

"I'll put it in a bag. You do your alien mojo and then let's get the hell out of here."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

When the taxi dropped El and Peter off at the hotel, it was late afternoon. They'd prolonged the meeting with Saalim Kattan for as long as they dared. At no time was there any indication that Kattan was aware of intruders. His graciousness and hospitality made it difficult to believe he could be associated with the cult. Could they have made a mistake?

El was on high alert the entire time. Thoughts of Neal and Henry sneaking around the riad drove her to wax enthusiastic over whatever piece of trivia Kattan uttered. He was bound to think she was a frivolous airhead of an American.

She admired Peter's smooth delivery. Making presentations about upcoming expeditions was a routine occurrence for him. He went into excruciating detail about the nature of the fictitious trip and what they hoped to accomplish.

Although, perhaps it wasn't fictitious. Would Scorpion Hill have enough potential to warrant a return trip? Peter's gift of persuasion had Kattan convinced of its significance. He agreed on the spot to facilitate the necessary arrangements. What would he have been like if he knew his premises, like some ancient tomb, were being plundered? At least, El hoped they were. They'd had no confirmation Neal and Henry had succeeded in penetrating the riad.

When they arrived back at the hotel, she took it as a positive signal that there were no police cars parked outside the entrance.

"Don't break out the champagne just yet," Peter warned. "Neal and Henry may not have managed to break in."

"I have complete faith in their larcenous ability," El retorted.

Peter snorted. "You probably wish you could have been with them instead of me."

"How'd you guess?" El checked herself when she saw Raquel approach. "Incoming hostile," she murmured in Peter's ear.

He turned around. "Raquel, this is a pleasant surprise," he said smoothly with a warm smile. "I thought you'd be at work."

"I'm done for the day," Raquel said with that syrupy French accent which El used to love and now found revolting. "This weekend I'll head back to Paris."

"Have you found any evidence of the cult?" El asked, hoping the question sounded innocent. She noted that Raquel wasn't wearing the perfume from the previous evening. Was that because she didn't expect to see Neal?

"Nothing to substantiate the rumors. The police will notify me if they hear of any activity." Raquel smiled at them. "There's no need for you to be concerned. Or me either, for that matter. Before I leave, I'm treating myself to a vacation day so I can enjoy the sights of Marrakesh. Could I entice you into joining me for a tour of the museums and art galleries tomorrow?"

"I'd love to!" El exclaimed before Peter had a chance to jump in. "Peter and Neal have already agreed to assist a colleague but I have no specific plans for the day."

Raquel hesitated only a moment before expressing her delight. The disappointment she must have felt was reflected only in a slight tightness to her expression.

El knew Peter was dismayed, but he hid it till they were alone in the elevator going up to their floor.

"Why did you agree?" he demanded.

"We're already concerned about the cult following you. By keeping Raquel occupied, I could be keeping one of their biggest players out of commission."

"But this is a woman who tried to poison Neal with who-knows-what. Now you'll expose yourself to the same risk."

"I have no intention of drinking or eating anything Raquel could have tampered with," El said calmly. "You don't need me at Scorpion Hill. I'll be much more useful by preventing her from following you."

Peter wasn't happy about it but he couldn't dispute her reasoning. Marrakesh had a number of museums she'd like to explore, but she didn't intend to spend the entire day with Raquel. A couple of hours together would prevent her from being able to track the men. El could then return to the hotel to enjoy the spa. The events of the past couple of days had been more draining than she'd anticipated. She hoped they'd be able to fly home the following day. Even if the men weren't ready, she had commitments and couldn't delay her departure.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

After closing the wormhole, Neal and Henry escaped back to the roof with their loot. Neal felt almost as giddy as when he'd climbed on the back of the shantak to flee Azathoth's fortress. Henry was ribbing him about experiencing rookie euphoria. Neal longed to be able to tell him about his previous thefts. The crystal in ancient Egypt surely counted as one. Mozzie had been prescient when he said their group was destined to be a band of thieves.

The only previous zoog specimen they'd been able to examine had been killed by Mozzie's cat on the roof of the science building. It had vanished within a few minutes of being discovered. The Moroccan specimen lasted long enough for El to extract tissue and blood samples before it too lost its integrity. So far the samples hadn't suffered the same fate, but the need to return to the lab facilities in Arkham was now even more essential. At El's prompting, Peter went ahead and made their flight reservations.

The _Book of Azathoth_, samples, and sculpture were securely stowed in the hotel safe, but they'd all breathe easier when they were on the return flight from Marrakesh. And they wouldn't be flying alone. Henry had assured him in so many words he'd come along, and Neal planned to hold him to it.

This expedition to Scorpion Hill was simply a scouting trip—or so Neal tried to convince himself. Any thorough excavation would need months of preparation. The earliest they might be able to return was the spring. But on the next day, as Neal bounced along in the front passenger seat of the Jeep, his excitement mounted. Would they find evidence of the Elnath? Perhaps some clue to the location of one of their caves?

Peter pointed with one hand through the windshield. "You see that waterfall ahead? The cave I excavated is near it. Our destination is on the far slope. When we leave the Jeep, we'll have about an hour's hike to reach it."

"So, aside from the hordes of scorpions Neal told me to be prepared for, are there any other threats I should know about?" Henry asked nonchalantly.

"No, that about covers it," Peter replied, looking equally relaxed. "Oh, keep an eye out for snakes. Puff adders and cobras are the most dangerous. I haven't spotted any human foes, have you?"

"Nope. The ruse we used at the ruins must have succeeded in keeping any cultists from following us."

As they continued their bumpy way up the hillside, the only threat Neal was currently worried about was a bruised tailbone. The shocks on the Jeep had evidently died years ago.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Laban Shrewsbury had provided a detailed map to the cave. Without his instructions, Peter would never have guessed it was there. Shrewsbury was famous in the archaeological world for his ability to discover previously unrecorded sites. Peter suspected the cave would be yet another example of his skill.

His two novice archaeologists followed him up the slope. Henry insisted on bringing up the rear so he could watch for anyone tracking them. Peter didn't try to dissuade him but at this point any foes wouldn't likely be human. They hadn't spotted another vehicle for the past fifteen miles.

The climb in winter wasn't arduous, but in summer the site would be a furnace. Only small pockets of sandy soil clung to the rocks. Vegetation was reduced to a few scattered thorny shrubs.

Neal doused himself with scorpion repellent when they left the Jeep. Henry declined Neal's offer to share as did Peter. There were only a few scorpions about, and they probably laughed at the repellent. No giant winged monsters blocked their path. Mozzie would have had no cause for alarm. Compared to their other adventures, this was turning into a cakewalk.

The cave opening was a shallow niche in a tumble of rocks and easy to miss. They had to crawl through on their hands and knees. Once they were inside, the cave revealed itself to be spacious. It was roughly twenty feet square and would have made a decent shelter for early humans. Perhaps back then the entrance had been easier to access.

As they swept the walls with their flashlights, the significance of the find quickly became apparent. Along with drawings of starfish, outlines of prehistoric deer, scorpions, and the unmistakable shape of the Elnath covered the walls. Charcoal and red ochre were the predominant paints. The outlines had been incised into the walls first, providing a record even in areas where the paint had worn away.

Exhilaration thrumming through his body, Peter hoped the flash equipment he'd brought had sufficient wattage to record what was quite likely the finest example of Neolithic cave art in Africa.

"Peter, look at this!"

At Neal's exclamation, he spun around. Neal was pointing to a stone slab. Henry had already darted over.

"What are those?" Henry asked, peering at the marks with a bewildered look on his face. "Chicken tracks?"

Neal grinned. "Hardly. This is writing—_Elnath writing_—and the first example we've found on walls."

Peter was stunned at the discovery. Scratch his earlier prediction. This could be the preeminent Neolithic cave site in the world if it proved early Moroccans were not only capable of writing, but were familiar with an alien script. Up to now the earliest known examples of writing were from Mesopotamia and dated to the fourth millennium B.C. According to Lavinia, the Elnath were known to be on Earth between 12,000 and 9,000 B.C. at which time the Ymar conquered their settlements. Since the paint pigments contained charcoal, he'd be able to determine just how old the writing was.

Henry's brow furrowed. "Elnath? Who are they? Some prehistoric tribe?" When Neal winced, he sighed. "Never mind. This is why I'm going to Arkham."

"Can you read the text?" Peter asked.

Neal nodded absently. "It appears to be a hymn of praise to their gods, asking for their blessings . . ." He studied the wall intently and pointed to a section of script. "This is puzzling. It indicates they will guard the treasures of the gods with their lives. What treasures could they be referring to?"

Peter racked his brain for ideas. "You don't see any shimmer, do you?"

"No." Neal reached under his shirt and pulled out his amulet. The bronze-like surface emitted a soft glow.

Peter's immediate reaction was that ghasts must be nearby. Generally, that was the only time the amulet glowed. But when they were in ancient Egypt, it had scorched the skin of a priestess allied with the Starry Wisdom cult. In the confined space of the cave, there was nowhere for a ghast to hide and they would have spotted anyone outside the entrance.

Neal wiped his brow as he slumped against the wall. Henry was beside him in a flash. "You okay?"

"Just a little dizzy. It's already gone." His lips tightened as he concentrated. "I can feel the energy. It's growing stronger."

"What energy?" Henry demanded.

This wasn't the time to discuss algolnium with him, and Neal didn't try. He was staring at a section of the wall, but Peter was more interested in keeping a bead on him. An aura was coalescing around him. Were Peter's eyes playing tricks on him or was Neal himself glowing? He seemed to be acquiring a faint viridian cast similar to the color of the amulet.

Peter nudged Henry. "Do you notice anything different about Neal?" he murmured.

"Like what?"

"An iridescence to his skin, like he's . . . radiating energy?"

Henry shot him a dismayed look. "He looks like that to you?"

"Yeah, and it's growing stronger."

"I don't notice anything different."

That likely meant whatever Peter was seeing was because of the algolnium in his body chemistry—not necessarily a comforting thought.

Neal began to sweep his hand over a blank area in the wall facing him. It was a section which didn't have any cave art. Peter had assumed it was because the surface was rougher than the other areas, but was there something else at play?

"There, can you see it?" Neal smiled, seemingly oblivious to the glow his skin had acquired. In front of him, the wall had disappeared. Peter stood at the threshold of what was a much larger cavern. The walls glistened with bioluminescent stalactites. They shed enough light that the cavern appeared to be lit. It reminded him of the cavern of H'nir on Merope. Although small in diameter, it was over thirty feet high. A large pond filling half the cave was bordered by lavender-colored ferns. Shelf mushrooms in hues of rose and coral lined the walls. Next to the pool was a clump of what appeared to be large open clam shells. In the center of one was a crystal the size of a golf ball. It was a luminous peridot in color.

"What are we supposed to be looking at?" Henry asked, frowning in frustration. "Is this some kind of prehistoric art? I gotta tell you, all I see is a jumble of rocks."

"Sorry, this is another one of those need-to-know situations," Neal said.

Henry groaned. "I should have known. Is it a wormhole?"

"I don't think so. It's another section of the cave. It's been restricted to . . ."

When Neal stumbled over the words, Henry supplied them for him. "You don't need to tell me. If I'm not a Guardian of the Universe I'm outta luck. Well, that just sucks."

Peter tested the opening by tossing a pebble inside. It entered the cavity without any sparks, proving that algolnium wasn't necessary to enter.

"We won't be gone for long," Neal assured him, wincing in sympathy.

Henry shrugged. "Don't worry about me. I'll guard your flank. It's not like I have anything else to do."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Henry sighed as the two men vanished through the supposed opening. He could still hear them. Once more excluded from the action. This was uncomfortably like what had happened fourteen years ago—Neal, Peter, and Mozzie off on some intergalactic adventure while he had the thrill of a new life in a shelter for unwanted kids.

Damn.

It wasn't that he didn't appreciate what Mozzie and Peter had done. That home was a helluva lot better than his former life. And from the way Neal described his childhood, he hadn't had a picnic either. Henry still didn't know what had caused Neal's amnesia. He'd asked a doctor friend who'd said he'd never heard of anyone recovering their memory after such a long period of time.

Henry had alternated between believing that Neal and his odd friends were space aliens to being convinced he'd been tricked—but throughout the experience he'd instinctively known they could be trusted.

Was his curiosity enough to make him give up his current job? On the face of it, he'd have to give it a snowball's chance in Hell. But there was a tiny whisper saying that just maybe he was on the verge of something really big, which would make everything else in his life pale to insignificance.

Neal and Peter must have moved further into the cavity as their voices were now indistinct murmurs. Henry approached the wall. "Hey, guys, remember me? What did you find?"

"I wish I could tell you," Neal called out.

Henry's shoulders sagged. Doomed to ignorance once more. He thrust out his hands in frustration and was astonished to see them disappear inside the cavity. It was as if the wall didn't exist. He'd be able to enter after all!

Henry felt all around to judge the size of the opening and then stepped into . . . total blackness.

"Neal, can you see me?"

"Hey, you made it!"

That's when it went south. Straight in front of Henry were two fiery red eyes. That was the only warning he had before it lunged at him. He felt a giant claw scoop him up as a cloud of foul-smelling gas make him cough. Loud clicks reverberated in his skull like machine-gun fire . . .

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal froze in shock when the giant scorpion came out of nowhere. The creature's pincers encircled Henry's chest and dragged him back toward the opening.

"Don't struggle, Henry!" Peter yelled, reaching for his gun.

"Wait," Neal shouted. "Those clicks, I can understand them." He raced forward. "Leave him alone," Neal clicked frantically. "He's my friend."

The scorpion halted. "He is not like you. He is not permitted entrance."

The scorpion's eyes were luminous garnets in its dark head. The body was mottled dark mahogany and olive and appeared to be twice the size of Henry. Neal kept his clicks slow and reassuring, at least he hoped they were. "Please don't harm him. He's working with us."

"Your companion is marked as belonging to you but this creature is a trespasser."

"He didn't realize it. That was my fault for not telling him. I promise he won't enter again."

The scorpion bowed its head. "I live to serve." An instant later it vanished.

Neal raced to Henry's side. "Are you okay?" he asked, crouching beside him.

"I guess," Henry gasped, pressing his chest. "Nothing broken. What was that thing?"

"A giant scorpion."

Henry's eyes opened wide. "It was bigger than me. It must have been the Godzilla of scorpions."

Neal wasn't going to argue the point. "Apparently it was charged with guarding the entrance to the inner cave. It thought you were a threat."

"Are you sure there was only one? I heard two of them. The clicks were coming from different directions." He wrinkled his brow as he stared at Neal. "Did I hear right? You could understand what they were saying?"

Neal stared at him, at a loss for words. He hoped Henry hadn't been able to see that he was the one clicking at the scorpion.

"There will be plenty of time for explanations later," Peter said, shooting Neal a sympathetic look. "Let's get you out of here. The scorpion's gone for the moment but we don't want to risk a return visit."

"Sounds like a good plan to me," Henry mumbled. "Just point me to the exit door. And I wouldn't mind some of that scorpion repellent."

Neal helped him into the main section of the cave then returned to collect samples. They'd already determined that the other clam shells were empty, but Peter wanted samples of the ferns, mushrooms, and the water in the pool.

This was one time Neal didn't have to worry about cult members accessing the cave. The scorpion would continue to protect the entrance from intruders. Peter must be wondering what the scorpion had said. Even if Peter had been wearing his language amulet, it probably wasn't equipped to translate scorpion clicks. What had the scorpion meant about Peter? When Neal encountered the winged serpent for the first time, he'd pleaded with it to read his thoughts and recognize his friends. Had the serpent somehow marked his colleagues?

* * *

_Notes: March 8 is International Women's Day and in honor of the occasion, I wrote a blog post about the additions to the female cast over the past year. The Arkham Round Table writing group is also striving for more diversity in the roles of female characters. As one example, Elizabeth added a new dimension to Arkham Elizabeth. She's placed a couple of sneaky breadcrumbs in Scorpion Hill, and will explain them in the next Caffrey Conversation story, Silent Planet. The first breadcrumb was in this chapter. Any guesses as to what it is?_

_Next week, Henry accompanies the others to Arkham. He survived his encounter with the scorpion, but Lavinia is still to come and to Henry she may appear even riskier._

__Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation_  
_Story Visuals and Music: The Scorpion Hill board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website  
Twitter: silbrith__


	4. SCAGR

**Chapter 4: SCAGR**

**Marrakesh, Morocco. Friday, January 9, 1976.**

By now Henry didn't really expect Neal to explain what had happened in the cave, sweet though it would be. If nothing else, the incident at Scorpion Hill confirmed the necessity of traveling to Arkham.

As a gesture of goodwill, Henry went out of his way to go swimming in the hotel pool that evening so that the others could have plenty of time to discuss the events at the cave among themselves. He comforted himself that soon their secrets could be his too.

They flew to Boston in first-class luxury, a world apart from the cattle-car trip he'd made to get to Marrakesh. Henry breathed easier when the person who made the arrangements didn't question his alias. It was the only passport he'd brought with him. Only Neal joked about sitting next to Dallas Frazier, the man who made "Alley-Oop" famous.

Mozzie was on hand to greet them at Logan Airport when they arrived in Boston. It was Henry's first time to see the astrophysicist in fourteen years, but Mozzie picked up the conversation from so long ago as if it had just occurred.

"I hear you're interested in joining the Guardians of the Universe," the astrophysicist said, twisting Henry's fingers as he shook his hand.

"What's that? The secret handshake?" Henry joked back.

The only response he got was a snicker. Talk about awkward. In fact, you could describe the whole journey to Arkham the same way. Henry didn't want to divulge any further details about the firm he worked for. Mozzie was plainly bursting with questions about the trip, but Peter and Neal restricted themselves to only talking about events that Henry was already familiar with. Elizabeth was a calming influence, but that was because she was suffering from jetlag and slept most of the way to Arkham.

They rode back to Arkham in the largest limo Henry had ever seen. There was plenty of room for the five of them to sprawl in the J-shaped configuration. When Elizabeth nodded off, Mozzie spent the rest of the journey lecturing him about parallel universes called branes. M-branes, A-branes, Z-branes—soon his brain was spinning with all the letters of the alphabet.

Science had never been his strong suit. Did he really want to spend his life with a bunch of eggheads? Henry liked his job because it wasn't a job. It was a set of invitations to adventures. He could pick the ones he wanted and make up the rules as he went along. The pay was great, the thrills were always there. Granted he hadn't experienced the excitement of being hauled off by a monster scorpion, and he had to admit the wormhole was pretty cool even if he couldn't see it very well. But how often could he expect that to happen?

When they arrived in Arkham, the driver first dropped the Gilmans off at their townhouse. The next stop was a couple of blocks away at a house large enough to qualify as a mansion where Neal rented the loft.

"I'll bring Henry by your apartment after we meet with Lavinia," Neal promised Mozzie as they got out.

Lavinia . . . the name conjured up a scary English teacher who'd haunted Henry's days and nights in elementary school. Surely this one wouldn't be so bad.

No worry about night terrors from Neal's landlady June Harper. She greeted him like a member of the family and offered him the use of a guest bedroom, free of charge. Not that he intended to stay for more than a couple of nights. No matter what happened, Henry had to leave in a couple of days. He'd already promised his team he'd help on the Argentina job. The saving-the-universe gig would have to be on the back burner till then.

Neal asked if he wanted to get the test out of the way, and that was fine with him. He wasn't going to learn anything otherwise. They took off for the university campus, on foot no less. When Henry joshed him about it, Neal admitted he didn't own a car. Claimed he didn't need one. Who in their right mind doesn't want wheels?

That was just one of many head-scratchers, but the kid had always been hard to figure out. When Neal was eight, he was a locked box of secrets, and he hadn't changed much. For one thing, he was far too serious for his age. From where Henry was standing, Neal should feel like he was on top of the world. But despite having close friends and a comfortable job, he seldom let his guard down.

Is this what came with having accumulated far too many diplomas for any twenty-two-year-old to rightfully possess? Did he ever go to parties? Have a social life? Henry had the uneasy feeling that Neal's idea of fun was hanging out with Peter and Mozzie and discussing branes till the wee hours of the night.

Yeah, Neal needed him big time, and it wasn't just because he and his friends were weird. Although, if the stories he'd heard about Lavinia were accurate, she'd set a new standard.

Was it an omen that she lived inside a library which from the outside looked more like a haunted house than a university building? Not that Henry was an expert on universities. When he graduated from high school, he kissed the school scene goodbye. Who needed mind-numbing classes in math and history for the work he wanted?

The inside of the library, though . . . man what a place. The wood paneling looked like something out of an English castle, and he should know. He'd broken into more than a few of them. Those books had to be worth a fortune. Neal didn't give him a tour, but Henry caught a glimpse of some gated-off room at the end of a passage which reminded him of a vault. Just what kind of treasures were they hiding inside? In his experience, vaults were always worth investigating. But for now, that one would have to remain a mystery like so much else related to Neal. Instead of checking out the vault, they climbed a narrow iron spiral staircase in the back of the building.

"Do you have any concerns about the procedure?" Neal asked.

"What exactly is she going to do to me?" Henry didn't care to reveal how creeped out he was starting to feel.

"Did you ever watch _Star Trek_?"

"Sure."

"Then you know what a Vulcan mind-meld is. What Lavinia can do is somewhat similar." Neal paused on the staircase and turned to face him. "She can read your perceptions. And I'm sorry, but it is intrusive. She'll have access to all your memories."

Henry stopped in his tracks. _Not happening_. Neal already knew he was gay, but that was nothing. The list of crimes the woman would discover could send him to prison for . . . he didn't even want to guess. Neal was watching him as if he could read what he was thinking. Was he a telepath too? Where was the _eject_ button?

"I don't know of anyone more close-mouthed than Lavinia. You have my word that she won't use the information against you." Neal's eyes drifted up to the ceiling. "For instance, if your memories happen to include something illegal, she won't report the crime—_or you_—to the police."

Henry swallowed. "Good to know." Should he trust Neal? Maybe she'd brainwashed him. On the other hand, stop and think what Neal just said. This woman was capable of reading minds. No human could do that. Henry was about to meet his first space alien . . . unless he already had. Lavinia was Neal's friend. Was this the confirmation of what he already suspected? Neal and maybe Peter and Mozzie as well were from outer space?

"She'll be able to learn if you have any ulterior motives or are being influenced by our enemies," Neal continued.

"Influenced how?" Henry asked, intrigued despite his resolve to reject any attempt at mind-melding.

Neal hesitated for a moment. "That zoog you saw? It's highly intelligent. It can parasitize a man's brain and control his actions."

Henry stared at him. Neal appeared deadly serious. "Are you worried there's one inside me?"

"Not really, but we can't take a chance. Look, don't feel obligated to agree to the probe. It's your choice. We'll still be friends. There will simply be areas I can't discuss."

Zoogs living inside brains? No wonder Peter had been so wary. Where did zoogs come from? Who was Neal really? This was Henry's chance to find out. If he turned away now, he'd never know. He'd been on the run before. If Lavinia turned him in, he'd simply assume another identity.

Henry took a breath, giving himself another moment to change his mind. Damnit, he'd always known he had too much curiosity for his own good. "I've gone this far. I'm not turning back. If Lavinia wants to ransack my mind, she can have it, but she may not enjoy the experience."

Neal relaxed into a relieved smile. "Thanks. I know this is asking a lot."

As it turned out, Lavinia wasn't at all like his former English teacher. She was a thousand times worse. A forbidding scowl appeared to be permanently carved into her brown skin. As for her eyes . . . that greenish glint was downright creepy. It didn't help that her apartment resembled a mausoleum. What sane person lives in a library? Undoubtedly bats roosted in the rafters of her turret. Her tweed skirt looked as ancient as the tapestry cloth on her table.

But Neal seemed more relaxed than at any time since the scorpion cave. He put on a pot of tea and even dished out a plate of Oreos for them. Evidently, Lavinia wasn't into gourmet food. Judging by the stack of cookie boxes in her kitchen, the lady had a sweet tooth. He could relate to that.

So okay, Henry drank the emerald wine which turned out to be a lot more refreshing than the Kool-Aid taste he'd expected, and, yeah, he let her jab her fingers against his skull. He'd endured a helluva lot worse. He had no idea how long she held them there. It seemed to be over in a second. Afterward, he slouched against the uncomfortable oak chair. "Did I pass?"

"You'll do," she said. Was that a ghost of a smile on her lips?

Neal, for his part, must have spent the time gorging himself on cookies. Half of the plate had been emptied. He poured Henry a cup of tea, although he would have much preferred an additional glass of wine.

Henry reached for a sugar fix and stopped in astonishment as one of the cookies rose from the plate on its own volition. A second later, it vanished. He glared at Lavinia. She had to be responsible. "Are you some kind of witch?"

"You shouldn't listen to student gossip," she chided dismissively.

"Lavinia's not a witch," Neal assured him. "What I tell you can be discussed with no one outside our group. Is that acceptable?"

His mood had gone serious, and Lavinia looked even grimmer, if that was possible. Henry had the impression that if he lied, she'd send hellhounds to carry him off into a fiery pit worse than anything he could imagine. But he couldn't stop now. The questions were exploding in his brain like grenades.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

"What's your impression of Henry?" Gideon asked. He'd stayed in Lavinia's bedroom while the boys were present. A necessary precaution although one Neal might not have approved of. In the end, though, Neal's assessment was correct. His friend could be trusted.

"He's a better fit than I expected," she admitted. "He has skills in many areas that could be useful to us, and his desire to protect Neal is genuine."

Gideon was able to overhear their conversation even though he couldn't see them. "I've heard of the outfit he works for. Their tactics are often illegal and their sense of morality doesn't fit the norms. They've made a name for themselves by operating outside the law."

"Henry's a misfit with no family. He's not in love. He views Neal as the closest relative he has. It augers well for the future."

"Especially since my time on Earth will be greatly reduced," Gideon said. "The situation in the Andromeda sector worsens."

"We'll manage. You've trained Fei Hong well. She's ready to assume greater responsibilities."

"Her financial skills are better than mine," Gideon admitted readily. "Funding will never be an issue." He took a seat, helping himself to the lone remaining cookie. "Was including the chittaks your idea?"

"No, Neal suggested it when he called me."

Gideon smiled. "They provided proof of a world Henry wasn't aware of."

Ch'orri was sitting contentedly on the window sill, grooming his fur and licking off crumbs. Neal had taken Ch'uli, the chittak's mate, home with them. The disclosures would likely continue into the night. What Lavinia had related had been a brief introduction to the early history of the Elnath, the Ymar, the Celaenians, and their own species. Whatever Neal chose to reveal about his personal history was up to him.

Lavinia's focus had already turned to other matters. Further testing would be required to understand the luminescence Neal exhibited in the cave. No Meropian glowed in the way Peter had described Neal. It was likely an indication that the Celaenian components in his body chemistry were continuing to develop, a hopeful sign for the work which lay ahead.

"How do you propose to handle the situation in Marrakesh?" she asked.

"For now, we watch and wait. I provided the head of the secret police with evidence of Kattan leading a dangerous group of insurgents who wish to overthrow the monarchy. He said he'd discuss the report with the king. Now that the wormhole is sealed, the cult's supply of moon-tree wine will dry up. The zoog within Kattan's brain will eventually die from lack of proper nutrition. The problem will resolve itself without our assistance."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Mozzie joined Neal and Henry for dinner at June's that evening. Henry continued to sling questions non-stop. Neal sensed that Henry would have had a much more difficult time believing them if he hadn't met a talking armillary sphere and invisible creatures who loved cookies. Milly's presence alone, not to mention the Meropian instruments in Mozzie's lab, would be enough to convince the most hardened skeptic.

After the others left, he and Henry adjourned to the loft. Neal kept a supply of beer in the refrigerator for Peter. He'd need to increase his reserves with Henry around. If Henry stayed . . .

"So you didn't know you were a hybrid when you were a child?" Henry asked from his position on the couch, giving a random swat to Ch'uli who was grooming his hair.

Neal shook his head. "I knew Gramps had visited other planets but that was the extent of it. It's only been in the past few months that I've learned the truth, and there's still so much I don't know."

"What do you hope happens?"

"In a nutshell, our goal is to stop the Ymar from invading Earth. I'd love to kick them out of Tirelia and Merope too." Neal didn't voice his innermost hope of going to Celaeno someday. Perhaps eventually they could explore other planets.

"Do you think that's achievable?"

"Honestly, I don't know. We're just beginning to understand a few of Milly's capabilities. For now, we're in the business of sealing wormholes and collecting crystals where we can. The crystals come in different colors indicative of their attributes, but Milly hasn't explained what they are. Even Mozzie admits that so far the science of alien wave mechanics is beyond his grasp."

"Milly believes you may have the ability to seal wormholes by linking with the algolnium energy found inside them. Have you ever tested the concept?"

"No. I wish she'd told me before we set off for Marrakesh. Then I could have experimented with the wormhole beneath Kattan's riad. Not that I'm criticizing Milly," he hastened to add. "The way I glowed in the cave was the evidence she needed, and that was the first time it's ever happened."

"No wonder Peter is freaking out about the uncertainty of your situation." Henry took another swig of beer. "What's hard for me to see is how I would fit into this. Sure, if you need a spy or a hired gun, I can help. You want something stolen, I'm your guy. But I'm no scholar like the rest of you. Your lives revolve around the university. When you're not saving the galaxy, you have your jobs to return to."

Henry's point was a valid one. Much as Neal would like him to move to Arkham, he'd quickly grow bored without a meaningful occupation to fall back on. "Your work for the current outfit is freelance. Perhaps you could treat us as another client. Do you think that would be acceptable with your current employers?"

Henry nodded slowly. "That might work. If nothing else, I could say my family needs me."

"And it would be true," Neal said, delighted at his acknowledgment of their connection. "That surname you adopted comes with strings."

Henry arched an eyebrow. "Technically Chaseman is just an alias."

"That's close enough," Neal insisted. "You can't disappear on me now." He intended for his words to sound like a joke, but they weren't to him. Henry was the only one he knew from his life before Arkham who was still alive. His presence over the past few days had strengthened those ties.

"That's not going to happen," Henry said quietly, his face unexpectedly serious. "Both of us were dealt the short end of the stick when it comes to relatives." Henry understood what Neal hadn't said aloud, just like fourteen years ago. It was a good feeling that they could still read each other so well.

"What do you call your group?" Henry asked.

"Mozzie dubbed us the algolnium web, but that sounded too much like spiders to me. I suggested a band."

"Like a band of thieves?" Henry chuckled. "Peter must have loved that."

"You know him well," Neal said, returning his grin. "Mozzie liked the analogy though. I was actually thinking of musicians, not thieves."

"It's still kinda lame. Give me a minute." Henry pursed his lips for a moment. "SCAGR."

"What's that?"

"Scholar-Adventurer-Guardian Reprobates." He nodded decisively. "Now that's a group I'd be proud to be a member of, even if one of them does click like a scorpion."

"Hey, only under special circumstances, like saving your butt!" Neal was relieved they could joke about it. Admitting that he was able to communicate with the scorpion hadn't been an easy subject to tackle, but if nothing else, Neal's ability had convinced Henry of his hybrid nature.

Henry snorted. "Stop with the tickles, Ch'uli! How much algolnium will I need before I can see her?"

"It's a gradual process but it won't take long," Neal promised. He considered Ch'uli his secret weapon. Henry would insist on hanging around long enough to see the animal who'd been teasing him all evening.

Henry stood up, inadvertently dislodging Ch'uli, and walked over to Neal's guitar which was propped in a corner. "Do you play?" he asked, a glint in his eyes.

Neal shrugged. "A little. Rock ballads, mainly."

"I like to play the guitar too, but I'm more of a Stones man. Is there any place to play in this sleepy little town?"

"The coffeehouse where we met in December lets anyone sing. The owner, Jack Dorian, is a friend. He's a better guitarist than me. We're not totally without nightlife," Neal added, a little defensively.

Henry eyed him skeptically. "Studying in the library doesn't count."

Neal felt himself redden. With Sara in London, Henry's remark was perilously close to being accurate. "A disco opened up a few months ago on the south side of town. It's already attracted quite a following."

"And how would you know that?"

Neal shrugged as he admitted, "My students are a ready source of the latest trends."

"Uh-huh." Henry considered for a moment. "It's late. I'll give you a break tonight. But tomorrow I'm sure you'll want to take me out to celebrate my agreement to join SCAGR. We'll start off slow at Dorian's then hit the disco together."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

The next day, Gideon offered Henry a permanent job handling security. It would be a fresh start, a chance for him to go legit. His official name from now on would be Henry Chaseman.

Henry would continue to describe his job as being in finance and acquisitions. Neal doubted anyone would ask for details. As far as the outside world was concerned, Henry was one of Talmadge's employees. By inventing plausible tales of checking out potential investment opportunities, he'd have more than adequate leeway to travel anywhere. He could also continue to work with his old outfit when he wasn't needed by SCAGR. Gideon had been amused by the new name. Peter remarked it sounded more like Scatter-Brained Rascals to him. Neal took it as an encouraging sign that he could josh Henry about it. Henry left for Canada that evening, promising that he'd return to Arkham when the job was ended.

Neal's first chance to talk with Sara wasn't until several days later. She'd been in Edinburgh with her team when Neal returned from Marrakesh. Their telephone conversations were restricted to secure locations which meant that Sara needed to go to Gideon's office for prearranged communications. For his part, Neal took advantage of Mozzie's new secure facility.

Now that Mozzie was in charge both of Milly and the Meropian devices being left on Earth, he'd converted a seminar room adjacent to his suite into what he dubbed his bunker in the sky.

Mozzie's cachet with the university was platinum, particularly in light of the recognition he'd received for his latest book, _Branes Among Us_. His claim that he needed additional space to conduct experiments wasn't disputed, especially since one of the university's major benefactors—Gideon Talmadge—offered to provide the funds. The door onto the main hall had been walled up and a new door constructed which was accessed from Mozzie's office.

Security was provided by the Meropian instruments. No giant scorpions—at least as far as Neal was aware—but force fields restricted access to all who hadn't been given express permission. In addition to SCAGR members, their furry associates—Satchmo, Mozzie's cat Betelgeuse, and Lavinia's chittaks—had also been given clearance.

Mozzie was never one to deprive himself of the little touches which make life comfortable. He'd retained the seminar table for group meetings but replaced the simple plastic chairs with upholstered desk chairs on wheels. His office at Derleth Hall was actually a suite which included a bedroom and kitchen with well-stocked wine racks. That meant the bunker could easily be turned into a party room for festivities. Mozzie had yearned to install a spiral staircase to the roof similar to the one leading from his office, but Milly nixed the idea out of security concerns. They were all learning that Milly had as forceful a personality as Lavinia.

When Neal called Sara, Mozzie was teaching a seminar so it was just the two of them, or three, if you count Milly. The armillary sphere emitted a soft amber glow throughout their conversation but fortunately didn't inject herself unless asked a direct question. The peridot-colored crystal had been added to the sphere, but so far Milly had not revealed what if any extra capability she had because of it.

"I wish I could have seen the cave," Sara said, sighing. "I've been trying to picture it from your description."

"Peter suspects the water comes from an underground spring. We weren't far from a waterfall. Water is likely an essential element in growing crystals."

"Are you sure there weren't any other crystals?"

"The cave wasn't large enough for us to miss any."

"Milly, do you believe the scorpion was designed by Celaenians to protect the cave?" Sara asked.

"I have insufficient data to form an opinion," Milly replied, the celaenite crystal in the center of the armillary sphere sparkling more brightly when she spoke.

"Lavinia believes the Elnath are more likely," Neal added. "The Celaenians may never have known about the cave, but early humans must have been familiar with the Elnath. Cyrus dated the sculpture Peter bought and the cave art to the same period, roughly 10,000 B.C. Since the scorpion in the cave had wings, Peter suspects the legends about a gigantic scorpion in the Atlas Mountains are based on it."

"Any revelations about the Book of Azathoth?"

"Analysis revealed that the cover is made of nightgaunt skin. The signatures are all written in blood and have been traced back to 3,000 BC. Lavinia declared the book safe from malignant influences and is storing it in the library vault in a locked cabinet."

"Azathoth may try to steal it back," she warned.

"If he dispatches cult members, he'll be out of luck. Before Pagna left, she installed force fields in the vault to limit access to those who'd obtained permission. The statue is also in the vault. Eventually, it will be part of the Neolithic annex to the Miskatonic Museum that Peter is already dreaming about."

"And the additive that Raquel tried to place in your drink?"

"It, along with the perfume, has everyone stumped. Both include floral ingredients. Lavinia suspects Tirelian plants were used. Some of the compounds are algolnium-based, but no one knows what the effect is. I've offered to drink a sample of the additive under controlled conditions, but that was nixed straight off the bat."

"I should hope so," Sara declared. "Simply the fact she wanted you to drink it means it can't be anything healthy. I wonder if it could be some sort of alien love potion."

When Neal snorted his skepticism, she countered, "Don't dismiss it out of hand. You told me the priestess of Isis wore it too."

"I'll let the group know," Neal said. "Perhaps it was designed to work on humans and that's why it didn't have any effect on me."

"Or there's something about your hybrid nature which neutralizes the effects."

"It will be difficult to test," he warned, "but, looking on the bright side, we have solid confirmation that at the very least Raquel is associated with the Starry Wisdom cult. She may even be Tirelian or some other species."

"I knew there was a valid reason why I disliked her so much," Sara said. "Should Interpol be warned?"

"That's what we've been debating," Neal said. "We can't tell them she's an alien without revealing what we know, and even then, they wouldn't believe us."

"How about this? I could alert my Interpol contact that I heard a rumor about Raquel being a cult member and that she should be on her guard. Nisha already knows about the exposé we're working on. She might be able to dig up more dirt on her."

"It could put her in danger," Neal warned.

"Nisha's used to threats. She's an Interpol agent, after all. And wouldn't the risk be worse if we didn't alert her?"

Neal had no answer, but instinctively he felt that Nisha could easily get swept up in something far more serious. "At least you've got more protection."

"What do you mean?"

"Gideon will be returning shortly to his home base, but he told us we could call on Fei Hong for anything. It turns out she's also a Meropian."

"Some investigative journalist I make," Sara said glumly. "I've been taking martial arts with her for a month and I didn't have a clue."

"Don't feel bad. None of us knew about Lavinia and Gideon till they told us."

"I wonder how many other aliens are wandering around," Sara said.

"I asked Gideon, and he just smiled. You know how secretive Meropians are. It could be his way of teasing us."

"I know what you mean, and, in any case, I don't know what help Fei can provide with Raquel. If Nisha finds something incriminating, then Raquel would no longer be able to use Interpol for whatever wicked schemes she's hatching."

"We're also stymied from doing anything about the cult in Marrakesh. We're unable to make a complaint about Kattan since we have no usable evidence."

"It must be particularly frustrating for Peter," Sara sympathized. "He's unable to examine the disk you discovered."

"If you can think of a workable solution for him to gain access, we'd be in your debt."

"Since the wormhole's no longer active, Kattan may no longer be so protective. The Arkham disk has been publicly reported. If an article about it ran in a Marrakesh newspaper, Kattan might be enticed to let others see it."

"I'll bring it up at our next meeting," Neal promised. "It's worth a shot."

"Here's another topic to bring up. I know you haven't wanted to share information with my team, but isn't it time? With the resources Nigel has available, he may be able to expose the cult in Marrakesh. Shouldn't that be considered?"

Neal's initial inclination was to dismiss it out of hand, but would he be so quick if Nigel were in his fifties and happily married like Sara's boss at the _Arkham Gazette_? Nigel's team was researching cult influence throughout Europe and the Mediterranean. They were better placed to expose the cult in Marrakesh than anyone else. Diana Briscoe on the local police force had provided much-needed support. Nigel could be equally valuable.

After the call ended, Neal remained in the lab. He hadn't told Sara about the luminescence he displayed in the cave. There was still so little that was understood about the phenomenon. Perhaps it was because he didn't believe it. He hadn't noticed it at the time and he hadn't been able to duplicate the effect.

"I sense you are troubled," Milly said.

Her quiet voice startled him out of his thoughts. He'd forgotten about her presence. "Peter described the glow I exhibited in the cave. What do you believe the cause is?"

"The highest probability is that the cave was situated at a natural fissure in the Earth's crust which permits higher levels of algolnium radiation from your planet's core. Celaenians have the ability to harness algolnium energy. You may have as well."

"What does that mean?" he asked, uneasy about the implications. Was he turning into some kind of alien energy reactor?

"In practical terms, you may be able to manipulate wormholes and influence charged etheric fields. The ability is a powerful one, but I do not know how it will coexist with your human components."

Lavinia had expressed similar concerns, warning of unknown side effects. She advised him not to attempt any experiments. But in the fight with the Ymar, wouldn't they need to take advantage of all the tools at their disposal?

**La Mamounia Hotel, Marrakesh. Sunday.**

Raquel held the phone away from her face and winced. Nigel's harsh tongue-lashing stung like acid. She already knew she'd failed.

"Let me make sure I have all the disasters correctly enumerated," he said venomously. "Neal resisted your pathetic attempts to woo him. You're unable to account for how he spent his time for two days. Is it only a coincidence that our priest reported the wormhole was sealed when the only one we know of who is capable of such actions was in town at the same time?"

She felt her cheeks grow hot. "You already know the answer."

"And it also explains who has the _Book of Azathoth_. With the wormhole sealed, Kattan has lost his usefulness. The zoog which resides within him is nearing the end of his lifespan. When it dies, he will too."

"But you said there would be more moon-tree wine available."

"And there will be," he said curtly. "Azathoth realizes we have only one crystal left. He has initiated a contingency plan which will be ready shortly."

"Did he give you a date?"

"Never let it be said the Ymar don't have a sense of humor. Valentine's Day."

She laughed, relieved to have the tension broken. "A love letter from Azathoth to Earth. How appropriate! What can I do to help?"

"Clearly, based on your disaster in Marrakesh, not much," he grumbled.

"It's not my fault," she protested. "Yidhra herself said she wasn't sure the perfume would work. Have you fared any better with Sara?"

"It's been slower than I expected," he admitted. "I'll give it a few more weeks then implement Plan B. With an abundant supply of zoogs, we won't have to ration their use."

Raquel smiled. She could think of several she'd like implanted with zoog embryos. The invasion was at hand.

* * *

_Notes: Does the likelihood of hostile aliens meddling in government institutions sound like someone's pet theory? New York Mozzie played a major role in crafting the ideas for this story and will continue to do so in future tales. I wrote about "Alien Politics" for the blog this week. Penna wrote about how the Bechdel test influenced her novel in a post called "Novel Progress: Bechdel Test."_

_Yidhra is one of the Ymar. She is also the only female listed among the Outer Gods in the Necronomicon. Yidhra was first mentioned in Sands of Abydos as being linked to Isis and perhaps also to the priestess of Isis. Raquel's revelation about being in communication with Yidhra could be ominous for events to come. _

_Next week I'll return to the Invisible Library fandom for Merlin's Cave, a fantasy set in nineteenth-century Cornwall and featuring dragons, both real and legendary. Starting on April 8, I'll post the next Caffrey Conversation story, Silent Planet._

_Thanks for including my stories in your reading! __If you're ever curious about the schedule of upcoming stories, the information is available on our blog._

_Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation_  
_Story Visuals and Music: The Scorpion Hill board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website  
Twitter: silbrith_


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